Sex, Love and Interpersonal Relations
by AnthroQueen
Summary: It's two a.m. and everything is quiet. Everything, that is, except for Jeff and Britta.


Sex, Love and Interpersonal Relations

It's after two a.m. and everything is quiet.

The dark night sky is bedazzled with glittering stars, the wind whispering sweet nothings through the cool, soft air, but not even the crickets are disturbing the serenity of the evening. The moon is crescent-shaped and milky white, dipping low in the post-midnight sky, as if afraid to show its full potential. The bare trees that are just beginning to bud again with the promise of spring wave and dance in the breeze; one of the branches reaches out towards the window of the apartment like an arm. _Come join us_, it seduces. _We won't bite_.

Britta shifts uncomfortably in the bed and very slowly, very carefully peels Jeff's arm from around her torso. The sweat is drying on her skin and needless to say, she's freezing in his apartment that is cold and uninviting, much like he is most of the time. She's pretty sure he's asleep; lost in some subconscious reality where he rules the courtroom again, if only it was that simple. Britta isn't unintelligent; she knows that Jeff has about as much of a chance of becoming a lawyer again as she does of becoming the first female president someday. But like him, she doesn't think in the future. Like him, she likes to dream.

This has become way too routine for her liking. Okay, maybe not her liking; more like her sanity. Her relationship- no, no, _attachment;_ what they have is hardly a relationship- with Jeff Winger could not be good for whatever life she wants, no, _plans_ for herself, but like Greendale, he has become another bump in the road. Abed will say the two do not have chemistry; that opposites attract, same repel, but that has never been the case for her and Jeff. Their matched egotistical, cynical, and sarcastic personalities are what fuels most arguments between them and so yeah, maybe they don't have _romantic_ chemistry. They will never be the couple to profess their undying love for one another or anything. But they certainly have sexual chemistry.

This is what got them here in the first place.

She's not sure who provoked who on the first day of school sophomore year at Greendale, but neither one of them disagreed, and this was ultimately their downfall. Britta realizes, now, lying in Jeff's bed, that the two have been engaging in these secret trysts since _September_; it's been… oh God, it's been _seven months_. Seven months of sneaking, secret-keeping, lying, kissing, groping, moaning and, well, having sex. Seven months and their routine hasn't changed. The moment it's over, Britta knows enough- she's _learned_ enough- to leave. And now, lying in his bed, confused and disoriented at two a.m., Britta realizes she's broken her number one rule.

It's always been unspoken, but the two know enough not to get too attached. She doesn't have a Jeff Winger manual, and as well as she knows him, she doesn't really _know_ him, so she could never try to understand why he agreed to this. She assumes Jeff will have sex with anyone with a pulse. But for Britta, it's more complex. She hates herself for falling prey to this dangerous trap. Sleeping with Jeff Winger, Douche Extraordinaire, isn't the best possible option for _any_ woman to take, let alone the confident, self-sufficient, and strong human being Britta expects herself to be. She feels dirty and used as she comes to think of this, but then again, she didn't push him away, did she?

And this is when she hates herself a little more, because she promised herself from the beginning that she would break this off the moment she began to _feel_.

Unfortunately she's been_ feeling_ since the beginning, but it keeps happening.

Glancing at the clock again, Britta slides up to a sitting position and rubs her eyes to grow accustomed to the dark. Her eyes dart around the room, looking for her clothing, but all she finds is her white tank top; her undergarments, jeans, and leather jacket completely missing. Though Jeff teases her constantly about the destruction zone that is her apartment, _his_ bedroom is no picnic, either, and she's lucky she's able to find anything at all. Yawning slightly, she reaches down and pulls the garment over her head, swinging her legs slowly out from underneath the sheets and gasping as her warm, bare feet hit the cold, wood floor. Carpets. The man seriously needed to invest in some carpets. A moment later, when she gathers the courage to stand, she hears his voice, husky and low,

"Leaving again? Ah. Shocking."

She freezes. The tone of his voice is somewhat off, not its usual sardonic demeanor. She's used to leaving before he awakens and he's never protested the next time they get together. He's never taunted her for it or asked after her safety, so she's grown accustomed to the fact that when she leaves his bed- the only warm thing in Jeff Winger's apartment, except for, well, _Jeff Winger_- it's completely okay. She'll go about her day and he'll go about his and they'll try and avoid contact with each other at school, as if too many looks or touches or even sarcastic arguments would give them away.

But this is different. He sounds _bitter_.

She turns slowly, her blonde hair falling delicately over her shoulder as she eyes him, staring straight back at her. "What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'?" Jeff asks with a yawn, rolling onto his side to face her. "Didn't Mama ever teach you manners, Perry? You're not even going to stay for breakfast?"

She blinks at him, her heart beating erratically and a hot blush rising on her cheeks. "I can't."

"You can't," He repeats. "Or you won't?"

Britta glances back towards the window. "I've never stayed before."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Jeff teases, but there's a trace of bitterness in his tone. _What?_ "There's a first for everything, right?"

She looks down, then back at him. "I shouldn't."

"Why not?" He groans irritably, sitting up as she now has his full attention. "You mind explaining to me what the fuck is with this little rule you have about leaving? Because it would bode well for both of us if we _both_ knew where you were the next morning, instead of being surprised at school."

Britta draws back as if she's been slapped, eyes narrowing. "You know what, Jeff? It's never bothered you before, so why now? Can't you just leave it alone?"

"You really want to have this argument at two in the morning?" He asks, smirking. "And how do you know it's never bothered me before? You've never stuck around long enough to find out!"

"I don't understand you," Britta shakes her head, turning completely around so they're sitting face-to-face. "Since when are you the face of all that is good and holy? You're honestly going to tell me what I should or shouldn't be doing with someone who I'm not even _dating_?"

"I'm not saying we're dating and I'm not saying we're not," Jeff defends. "But we're definitely more than just friends at this point, Britta, whether you like it or not. And judging by the sounds you were making earlier, I'm not banking solely on the latter!"

"Oh come on, you think _I'm_ afraid of commitment?" She scoffs. "I'm being judged by a guy who literally has _no_ commitment standards! Like _you_ of all people can judge anyone about that!"

"I didn't say anything about a fear of commitment; you brought that up all by yourself," Jeff frowns. "I happen to _know_ you're afraid of commitment, but that's beside the point. You refuse to admit your feelings Britta! That's the real issue, here."

"_Me?_ _I_ refuse to admit my feelings?" Britta yells, truly getting angry. "Um, hello, Kettle? This is Pot. You're black!"

"Look, all I know is, when things get rough or too serious or too _committed_, you're out before the sun comes up," Jeff breaks in. "I may have an issue with sorting out whatever the fuck I'm feeling, but at least I don't leave people dry."

"Whatever," She grumbles, hurt beyond belief as she stands and searches blindly for her clothes, only finding her jeans this time. "Where the-"

"'A lifetime of disappointment has given me douche-ray vision,'" Jeff quotes, leaning back against the headboard of his bed and Britta freezes.

She doesn't turn around, but says, "How do you remember that?"

Instead, he answers her question with a question. "Britta… Who did this to you?"

Britta doesn't answer; instead, she finds her coat on the ground and mumbles, "Forget my damn underwear. I'll get it later, just don't-"

"There you go, leaving again," Jeff sighs. "Don't you ever get tired of running?"

"It's better this way." Britta insists and Jeff, unsurprisingly, disagrees.

"For who?" He asks and when she attempts to answer, he cuts her off. "Listen, I've been on the receiving end of _a lot_ of leaving, Britta, and trust me, it's not too fun. Now are you going to tell me who made you who you are or am I going to have to beat it out of you?"

Finally, Britta turns to face him, still only half clothed in her tank top with her jeans slung over her arm. She sighs, casting her glance downward. "You don't wanna know."

"Then why did I ask?" Jeff says quietly and lets that sink for a while before asking a third time, "Who the fuck did this to you, Britta? Because whoever did, did a bang up job."

This produces a smile from her and she exhales heavily before sitting back on the bed, relaxing somewhat beside him. "It was a couple people, actually. I wasn't lying to you when I said I've been through a lifetime of disappointment."

Jeff doesn't smirk or poke fun at her admission, which is weird, but kind of nice. Instead, he opens his arms in a welcoming gesture. "Talk to me, kitten."

"Well, I don't know," She shakes her head, her nose scrunching adorably. "I guess it started with my father. He and my mother had this really weird relationship, where he was always dominant and the rest of us were always expected to do everything he said at all times. She never thought for herself, always had to ask for permission before she did anything and it drove me _crazy_. It was like we were living in the eighteen hundreds, or something. I always told myself growing up that I'd never be like them… That I wouldn't ever let anyone control me like that, because if _I_ wasn't in control of my own life, who was?"

Jeff nods. "Ah, so that's where the feminism came from. Go on."

"Yeah, so because my father owned this stupid chain of hotels-"

"Britta's a rich kid," Jeff says and the chuckles. "It makes _so_ much sense now! Although what I don't get is how, if you're rich, you haven't paid off your rent yet, because you realize you're looking to get evicted now, right?"

"Because my father owned this stupid chain of hotels," Britta continues, steamrolling over his previous question a way that told him that yes, she _has_ realized this but no, she hasn't figured it out yet. "The money just gave him even _more_ power over us and he forced my stupid brothers and me into every freaking extracurricular in the damn world. For realsies, by the time I was eight I was in ballet, piano, soccer, tennis, and violin. I don't even know what else, but I'm sure there was more."

Jeff smirks, sinking farther down into the pillow behind him. "It's really hard to take you seriously when you use the words 'for realsies'."

"Hey Douche Street, are you listening to my story or making fun of me?" Britta questions, shooting him a sidelong glance and he rolls his eyes, but is quiet. "Anyway, between my father's ridiculous democratic shit and mother's conservative republican shit, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with government, so I joined the whole anarchist thing. That pissed my parents off, which was an added bonus, because my brothers did everything they told them to. But I don't care; that was _literally_ the first time I was happy. I was finally away from their shit."

"Okay," Jeff stops her. "Let me review. Feminism and anarchy came from your bitchy parents, which makes complete sense because they sound like awful people- no offense."

"None taken," She smiles, though the situation hardly calls for it.

"Alright, so where did atheism come from?" Jeff asks and Britta bites her bottom lip.

"I don't really know, actually." She answers. "Probably because I hated going to religion classes in elementary school… But that doesn't matter."

"Alright," Jeff repeats. "Anarchy, atheism, and feminism down. So now what? Commitment issues?"

She scowls towards him. "Why don't I take a little break and you tell me about _your_ commitment issues?"

But Jeff shakes his head, disagreeing with her logic. "Nah uh. This is your time."

"No, I just dished about my Dad, let's hear about _yours_." She retorts and immediately regrets it when a dark cloud passes over his face.

"I don't talk about my father." He says angrily. "This doesn't pertain to this fucking conversation."

"Jeez, okay," Britta throws up her hands in defense. "I'm sorry I bothered. I'm Jeff Winger's dumb gay Dad, okay?"

He smirks, the tension relieving slowly. "No, I'm sorry. I just… My father walked out on us when I was ten and I never heard from him ever again. It's uh… Kind of hard, I guess, growing up without a father, but I figured it out."

Oh. Oh. _Oh_.

Britta looks at his tragic face and wants to cry for him. Or, she would, if she was that girl. Jeff Winger grew up without a father; that she knew before. What she _did not_ know is that his father _walked out_ on him, which explains so much about his life. Why he needed to be lawyer; he needed to prove himself worthy enough of a _real_ job. Why he had a phone full of nameless, faceless women; if he attached himself to them, he'd _feel_, and the life of anonymity was easier to cut himself away from them when they got too close. Why he is _so damn afraid_ of commitment; the one and only committed relationship he had even seen had failed miserably and he was on the receiving end of that despair.

She doesn't know what to say, so she awkwardly places a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "Not your fault. My father was really fucked up. The best thing he could've ever done is leave us… Granted, it's also the worst thing, because he fucked me up, too."

"Hey, you're not too bad," She nudges him, bumping his upper arm with her shoulder and their eyes meet for the first time since the beginning of this conversation. "You care, even though you think you don't. You help people even when you don't want to. And you're sitting here listening to me complain about my life instead of sleeping at three a.m."

Jeff grins genuinely. "Wouldn't be the first time I stayed up all night with you."

She rolls her eyes because _of course_ he's talking dirty again. "Yeah, yeah."

"So now you know my life story and I know about half of yours," He runs a hand up her arm. "Who fucked you over, Britta? Whoever did it clearly did a number on you."

"Yeah well, it happens," She sighs. "And it was two guys, so I lucked out _big _time."

"Oh joy," Jeff frowns. "What happened?"

"Well, I guess it started five years ago, when I met Hadley Lancaster," Her face automatically enlightens, even as Jeff makes a face. "Don't make fun of his name; we bonded over our ridiculous names when we met in Nigeria on our mission trip. I had just recently joined the Peace Corps and we were stationed on a four-month trip in Africa and Hadley and his older brother Avery took me under their wings, so to speak, to introduce me to everything."

"You spent four months in Africa?" Jeff asks, intrigued, and when she nods, he adds, "Doing what?"

"Doing everything we could," She shrugs. "We built houses, ran medical clinics, and taught most of the people English so they could better converse with us. We even built a better school for their children, because the one they had was less than adequate. But anyway, Hadley and I kind of, sort of became an item… I mean he was perfect. He was tall and had blue eyes and was British and he was into the whole anarchy thing too. Plus when I told him about my father, he thought it was _just_ as sick as I did. He believed in feminism too!"

Jeff pulls a face. "Sounds like you, but in male form."

"That's why he was _perfect_," Britta says. "We were pretty much inseparable the entire four months. I know; it's hard to picture me being romantic with anyone, but it was _nice_. For once, I knew what it was like for someone to unconditionally love me, you know? I finally knew the difference between having someone take care of me and having someone control me. That's the main reason I didn't want to let anyone in before… Call me an extreme feminist all you want, but I did _not_ want to end up like my mother. But Hadley wasn't going to treat me like that… I just _knew_."

There's a slight pause in the story, but Jeff's too intrigued to let this last. "So what happened? Did you lose touch with him after you left Africa?"

"No… He um… He died." Britta states, clearing her throat and looking at her hands, her lap, the floor, anywhere but at _him_. She hears his sharp intake of breath, as if he wasn't expecting this- but then again, who _would_? - and he places a comforting hand on her knee.

"Shit, Britta… I'm sorry."

She shakes her head. "It's fine… It was years ago… We were in Uganda helping out at the GUSCO Rehabilitation Center. We, uh, we were helping with Gulu's Save the Children Organization- you know, the one that helps rehabilitate former child soldiers?"

Jeff has to disagree. "Can't say I do. But I'll take your word for it."

"Well these kids were abducted from their homes and brainwashed by the Ugandan army and trained to fight, but we'd find them and take them back with us in hopes that they could eventually be like normal kids again," Britta explains. "Anyway, on our last day there, the volunteers and the kids were throwing us a little thank-you picnic. It was sunny and hot and we were seated on these little bamboo mats eating watermelon and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Hadley was telling these two little boys a story and I was sitting next to him with a little girl on my lap… It was like we were a little family and… I liked it."

"Then all of a sudden there was all this shouting coming from the bush off in the distance, but it was definitely coming closer." Britta continues, still refusing to look at him as she relieves the horror. "It was the Ugandan army and even though we were afraid for the kids, they weren't looking for them. The village had told one of them that American volunteers were in town, which meant money- lots of money- and they were planning on killing and robbing us. We were all afraid they would abduct the kids, but they wanted nothing to do with them."

"Holy fuck," Jeff exhales. "What did you do?"

"What anyone would do," She shrugs. "I ran like _hell_. Kari, the little girl, was just recovering from open sores on both her feet, so I had her in my arms and I just _bolted_. I heard gunshots and people screaming and kids crying and I didn't know what to do or where I was going. All that was on my mind was getting us out of there. Apparently the camp was used to this shit, so they had this little shelter where they shoved all the kids in. I stayed outside at first to make sure they all got in okay, but then one of the little boys Hadley had been talking to ran up to me and said, 'Miss Britta! Miss Britta! Hadley's hurt!' That's when I realized… He hadn't followed me."

"They shot him, needless to say," Britta sniffles, but wills herself not to cry. Do _not_ show weakness in front of Jeff Winger, you fool. "In the back of the leg, the stomach, and the shoulder. When I got to him, he was already dead… I didn't even get to say goodbye."

Jeff frowns because even though he knew Britta had seen some serious shit in her times of saving the world and anarchy, he never thought it would be anything _this_ fucked up. He's not even sure what to say. "Britta…"

"I was going to marry that guy," She laughs, but it isn't funny, not really, and a single porcelain tear slides down her cheek. "I had always said I wasn't going to bother getting married, but I knew that with Hadley, things would be different. Can you blame me for not believing in marriage now?"

He's quick to shake his head, because, honestly, it's the truth. "No. I really can't."

"After Hadley's death, Avery and I became really close and helped each other through everything," She sighs, swiping at her cheek and cursing her emotions. "But he wasn't as nice or as helpful or as caring as Hadley was, really. He got me hooked on pot for a while, saying it would help me forget my problems. But he got really aggressive whenever he was high and he'd say things or threaten to do things that, quite honestly, really freaked me out."

"Like what?" Jeff sits up a little straighter and his upper body suddenly tenses. "He didn't hit you, did he? I swear to God if he hit you…"

It's an empty threat, because honestly, who knows what happened to Avery Lancaster? But still, this shocks both of them. It surprises Jeff because he honestly didn't know he cared that much. He knew he cared about Britta; that was a given. But the extent of his feelings- whatever they may be- for her has never actually been measured. It shocks Britta, too, because never before has she had anyone threaten to hurt the person who hurt her. At first, she wants to tell Jeff she's a grown, self-confident woman and can deal with things on her own, but then, after she has a moment or two to think about it, she realizes she kind of likes it.

"No," She negates. "He never hit me. No one's ever hit me. He just would say stupid shit. He was very good at the verbal abuse, that's for sure. Then my friend told me he was sleeping with, like, three other girls _beside_ me, so that pretty much sucked. He told me I wasn't going to make anything of my life, since I was a twenty-seven-year-old high school dropout with absolutely _no_ credentials whatsoever. So I dumped the jackass and that's how I ended up at Greendale."

She nods, signaling the end of her story, and Jeff says nothing. If he thought he knew Britta before, that was only touching the tip of the iceberg. Getting to know people, Jeff has learned, is a reverse-triangular process. You learn everything you need to know about them within the first month or so of knowing them and as time goes on, the better you know a person, the fewer and fewer things you _don't_ know about them. Getting to know Britta Perry, however, was the exact opposite process.

At the beginning, Britta Perry had been a strong, self-confident, and egotistical cynic like himself. She's arrogant and self-righteous; she didn't believe in marriage, God, or any form of government. But now, as time is going on and more and more is becoming apparent, Jeff is beginning to see the mess that Britta really is. He's beginning to understand why she doesn't trust anyone, least of all him; why should she? Everyone she's trusted in her life has left her or disappointed her or _hurt_ her in some way. She doesn't believe in God, and why should she? What has he ever done for her? And now she can't really do commitment, either, because look at what happens when she commits. She always ends up the punching bag and is never offered the glove.

"Wow… That is…" Jeff's at a loss for words. "Really fucked up."

"Yeah." She says simply, finally glancing over at him and his face is unreadable. "So I'm sorry if you think I have commitment issues and won't stay for breakfast, but I-"

He cuts her off, leaning over the space between them and silencing her mouth with his own. And now she's in a stupid Taylor Swift song- _kiss me on the sidewalk, take away the pain_- because his intention is to make her feel better, to distract her from continuously reliving every horror she's ever experienced. And what do you know? He does a _fantastic_ job. They're kissing and groping and moaning and… oh look at that, they're having sex _again_. It's four a.m. and everything is quiet. Everything, that is, except for Jeff and Britta.

When it's over, they'll try and calm their breathing and will eventually fall asleep in a sweaty, tangled mess. Britta won't leave and Jeff won't expect her to. They'll continue to tease each other about their inability to sort and express their feelings.

But it's okay. Because just feeling _something_ is good enough for now.


End file.
